


Bleed When I Fall Down

by iamowedbetter



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Angst, Death, F/M, What Was I Thinking?, angst again, fluff?, major angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-16 08:38:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1339036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamowedbetter/pseuds/iamowedbetter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In retrospect, she shouldn’t have been there at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bleed When I Fall Down

**Author's Note:**

> I genuinely have no idea why I thought I should stop my boredom by writing this. As per, it isn't very good. I plan to make the next chapter(s) a hell of a lot better. Many, many ideas for the worst part.  
> So. My OTP meets angst. Big time.  
> Chapter title is a lyric from 'How to Save a Life' by The Fray. Work title is from the song 'Human' by Christina Perri.

There was something endearing about Nicola Murray. Her genuine need to help those who needed it; her eagerness to impress those around her. And there was something so bloody loveable about Malcolm Tucker. The way he carefully brought his niece’s drawings to work to put them up on his office wall, with narrowed eyes that barked, ‘tell anyone and I really will use your skin for a drum’.

It had taken them two bottles of whiskey for him to admit that she wasn’t, in actual fact, a total frump and her to confess that she didn’t completely dislike his ‘passionate’ rages. Another half a bottle and she was on her knees whilst he hummed the tune to Auld Lang Syne like a drunken lunatic. What happened after that was called a mistake in the morning, and repeated every Wednesday night until-… Well, until they couldn’t anymore.

* * *

“Nic’la!” his shout had been met with the brunette spinning on her heels, a smug smirk planted firmly amongst her features. God, he _hated_ her.

“I don’t care what you threaten me with. No, I shall not bother myself with the unnecessary stress.” She finished with a little harrumph, waiting for him to reach her before folding her arms triumphantly. She always knew when he needed her, in _every_ way, and it truly pained him to witness her being so wonderfully brilliant with this knowledge.

“ _Please_ , darlin’,” the affectionate nickname got a perfectly arched eyebrow, “I need ye t’ do this.”

There was no spoken response, merely an expression that told Malcolm everything he didn’t need to hear: no fucking way; I really fucking mean it; I said no you deaf bastard; you’re an arse. Though there was a tiny shimmer, a barely noticeable glint, in the very depths of her beautiful brown eyes that told him it wouldn’t be too long. He was right to think that, for she did eventually start to cave in.

“What is it I’m doing?”

“Ye fuckin’ st-”

“ _Malcolm_.”

“Sorry. I jus’ need ye t’ do a quick speech, followed by a few questions.” The way he looked at her, all hopefulness and the promise of quite a seedy reward, was the reason she allowed her head to gently drop, lift and repeat. She only stopped nodding when he sprinted back the way he came. They didn’t need to exchange a smile and she didn’t need thanks. He was grateful. She could be awfully stubborn, especially since their relationship had danced from professional to romantic.

* * *

 

It wasn’t a difficult task, even for a minister of her standard, to get up on a stage and keep a crowd interested for roughly ten minutes. The speech was crafted late one night, when Malcolm had a particularly strong bout of inspiration, and had the slightest edge that hinted the writer had been working purely on five cups of coffee when they wrote it. Nicola was half-certain, though, that this was an educated presumption on her part. It wasn’t a bad speech; she had decided a few sentences in. The man practically ran the country, he _didn’t_ write bad speeches.

Then again, she only got to read it once.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hate myself and my inability to write fanfiction for fun. Haha. Fun. Oh! This isn't very long, I know, and it hasn't been properly checked. I'm working on it.


End file.
